


Tainted Grace

by seventeensteps



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Blood, Cutting, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Knifeplay, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Painplay, Prompt Fill, S&M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 00:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventeensteps/pseuds/seventeensteps
Summary: The thing with Gabriel was that Crowley despised him. He hated his guts, his personality, his ideal, his self, his voice, his hair, his eyes. Everything about that angel was despicable. Sometimes Crowley really believed that he was the source of half the evil things on Earth. Prejudice, Hatred, War. That sounded like Gabriel to him all right.





	Tainted Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [okjetaime](https://twitter.com/okjetaime). Prompt from this [list](https://twitter.com/divevil/status/1171799145457188864).  
The prompt was number 24. "I can make you cum harder than that." "Try me."
> 
> This fic really got out of hand and it was really messed-up. Please heed the tags/warnings.

The thing with Gabriel was that Crowley despised him. He hated his guts, his personality, his ideal, his self, his voice, his hair, his eyes. Everything about that angel was despicable. Sometimes Crowley really believed that he was the source of half the evil things on Earth. Prejudice, Hatred, War. That sounded like Gabriel to him all right.

However, for all Crowley's hatred toward the angel, and despite his ludicrous lack of human knowledge, there was no denying that Gabriel was really good at sex, and exceptionally so.

And it wasn't like Crowley didn't have Aziraphale. But there were certain urges that his angel couldn't satisfy. Certain itches too deep lovely Zira couldn't really scratch because the angel was gentle and soft and _good_. It wasn't Aziraphale's fault. If anyone was to blame, that being should be Crowley, for being the way he was. Too human for his own good.

Crowley wasn't sure whether Gabriel wanted the same kind of pleasure he was after, or whether he did it just to amuse himself, but Crowley didn't really care what Gabriel wanted. He was here merely to scratch an itch after all.

"Where have you gone, Demon?" Gabriel's voice pierced through his thoughts, its owner tightened the fingers in Crowley's hair, making him arch his head back further, opening up more skin for Gabriel. He whispered another prayer against Crowley's raw throat, and a sharp pain bloomed hotly where the angel's lips touched.

Crowley laughed, "That's none of your business." Another prayer above his collarbone. A thin line of blood appeared from the damaged skin, which tried to knit itself back together again after the prayer was finished.

"I don't think so," Gabriel mused, purple eyes bright and penetrating. The angel moved his hips, drawing a moan out of Crowley. "Do your part properly when you're here."

Crowley raked his nails down Gabriel's muscular back, bringing him closer, making sure to hurt, and spread his legs wider. "And what's that?"

"Your part," Gabriel said, punctuated it with a twist of his hips, eliciting more sounds from the demon, pulling back—"is to lie there"—thrust in violently—"and be taken."

And Crowley let him. More prayers and bites and kisses, and Crowley hated himself for allowing this to happen, but his mind was also too drunk to feel any real guilt. Some days, Gabriel would drag him to the edge and back, again and again and again, and some days, he would keep making Crowley come until he was certain that even with the miracle, Crowley's body was permanently broken and couldn't ejaculate anymore, but every time, Gabriel kept going until he himself was sated. Today seemed to be neither of that.

Today Gabriel had a new idea.

Crowley eyed the delicate-looking knife in the angel's hand. It was silver and adorned with flowery carvings. "What happened to the good old hail marys?"

Gabriel flipped the knife expertly. "I can make you come harder than that," he said it like a threat.

The newly-healed skin still stung, but who was Crowley to back away from a delicious thrill? He stretched leisurely, his part below milking the hot hard flesh inside him. "Try me."

Licking his lips, Gabriel raised an empty hand to miracle up a jug of clear, colorless water. He popped open the cork, and poured the liquid into an empty basin next to the bed.

Crowley's breath quickened. He knew what it was. "That's holy water."

"You're smart," Gabriel told him with an air of a person who didn't really mean what he said, and soaked the knife in the water.

Crowley slightly tensed when Gabriel turned back toward him, the knife in his hand, wet and dripping. He couldn't help but try to bend his leg away from it. "What the fuck, Gabriel? You still want to punish me for having you fooled when I was in Heaven last time?"

Gabriel chuckled, and Crowley cursed at him. "Don't be that way, Raphael," the angel smiled. "I don't want you to disappear. I only want you to remember."

Crowley detested that name. It escaped him how Gabriel got the thought into his head that _that_ was who Crowley used to be, and he wished Gabriel would just drop it, but if anything, Gabriel was relentless. He refused to call Crowley with other names. It reminded Crowley of his ignorance and stupidity and everything he could not remember. There were flashes of his life before the Fall, but that was all he had. He didn't know Gabriel before the Fall, and most importantly, he didn't know _Raphael_. He was not the pure archangel Gabriel had told him about. He was Crowley now, and he had made peace with it.

But as much as Crowley couldn't change who he was now, Gabriel couldn't change his mind about who he thought Crowley was either. He wanted Raphael, he had made sure Crowley understood that.

When the tip of the knife touched Crowley's chest, he screamed. Gabriel hadn't even pushed, but blood bubbled up, boiled, and it _hurt_. Crowley actually babbled and pleaded with him, anything for the hot white pain to cease. He thrashed, but couldn't overpower Gabriel's bulkier form. He felt the angel bend down and plant a soft kiss against the wound, a stark contrast to his earlier action. The pain began to fade after a while, but that was just the initial cut.

Gabriel repeated it again, and again, and again. Until Crowley's skin became a mess of bloodied, thinly cut lines, which burned more than they had any right to be. After a while, it became numb, and that was when Gabriel put down the knife. He returned to kissing the wounds, soft and fleeting, and then Crowley realized Gabriel was crying.

It baffled him to see the angel's tears, but he was too exhausted to say anything, smart or otherwise. Gabriel let his tears flow silently, all the while muttering indistinct prayers that didn't hurt anymore, light fingers dancing over Crowley's skin reverently. If Crowley didn't know any better, he'd think Gabriel was worshipping him.

"You're so beautiful," Gabriel said, palming the soft cock on Crowley's stomach. "Raphael, I l-"

"Don't." Crowley's voice was low, but it cut right through Gabriel's. The angel looked _hurt_, but it must be just another trick.

For once, Gabriel did as he was told, and went back to focus on Crowley's growing erection instead. He twisted his writs as he pistoned forward, tongue licking the blood away from Crowley's skin, which was just beginning to heal.

And Crowley had thought he was fucked up before, but now he was even worse, because it started to feel good, and because he liked it. He tried not to let it show, but he couldn't control the soft little moans that Gabriel carefully pulled out of him with every flick of his fingers and every thrust of his hips. The sting on his bruised and healing skin was what made him more sensitive than usual. His mind was foggy and he could only register the dull ache and the sharp pinpoints of pleasure, crashing against one another, hiking him up higher and higher, until everything was overwhelming, and he was pushed over the edge.

It was the most all-consuming feeling he'd ever experienced. It was as if he was floating and drowning at the same time. The sense of self, of _being_, faded into the background. If he was in his right mind, that might have scared him.

When Crowley came to, Gabriel was at his back, his powerful arms over Crowley's waist, and the angel was planting chaste kisses against his nape, sharp nose nuzzling Crowley's soft red curls. He knew the angel noticed that he was awake, but Gabriel didn't say anything. That was a bit disconcerting.

Crowley also didn't want to move, not right now when the air was muted and time seemed to be frozen. He didn't want to acknowledge the situation and the clutter of feelings and emotions inside him. His mind tried to conjure up the face of his own angel, and the kind of look he would give when he knew what Crowley had been up to—because he would know; there was no way he wouldn't—but Crowley pushed it away. Not now. Maybe later. He could be broken later, but not here.

Here, Crowley just let himself be.


End file.
